


Make Me Feel Safe

by LadyRevolution



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Badass!Claire, Book 3: Voyager, Domestic Violence, F/M, Frank is a dickhead, Happy Ending, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-03-31 07:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13970226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRevolution/pseuds/LadyRevolution
Summary: Frank is a historian through and through, and that means, above all, he likes order. For all the years of their marriage, it had been easy to tuck Claire's adventurous and rebellious side to the edge; at first they'd been so in love, then the war split them apart for 6 years, then the stones split them apart for 3. Now, being the first real opportunity to relearn each other, Frank sees Claire for all her flaws. But perhaps, more importantly, Frank shows all of his.Or in other words, an abusive!Frank plot twist from on the original love story of Jamie/Claire.





	1. Darling

**Author's Note:**

> To state from the beginning, I never liked Frank. When he took Claire back, it always seems like he wanted things to work, rather than for things to work with Claire, you feel? Like he was obsessed with getting his life in order and Claire just needed to be perfect too. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm thinking that this series will have around 5-10 chapters and I'll try to update either weekly or bi-weekly, but I've also got another fic going, so we'll see. 
> 
> I'm really really keen to hear what you think and where you want this fic to go because while I have an end goal in mind, I haven't quite decided on the journey. So please feel free to tell me what you want ahaha
> 
> This story also doesn't have a beta, so if you see any spelling or tense mistakes let me know, also I've only read the first book (still trying to push through the dry beginning of Dragonfly in Amber) so there might be a few things that don't correspond with the books.
> 
> **Trigger warnings of this chapter, physical and emotional abuse**

**Chapter One: Darling**

 

My life had been moulded by war; First in World War II, then in the Jacobite uprising, and then finally, in my own home.

When Jamie had walked me to the Stones for the last time, although we were both overwhelmed by grief and regret, we understood that the aftermath of Culloden was no safe place for Red Jamie’s wife and child. The future, while a place of more advanced war, was also a place of more advanced peace.

Little did we both know I was being transported from one battleground to another. We’d just assumed Frank would take me back. He’d loved me and I had considered him an honourable man. But apparently his honour was secondary to his pride.

He had been overjoyed at first, to have me back in his arms.  However, it had taken less than a year for him to realise that while he held me, I envisioned Jamie’s arms instead. 

It was after a thanksgiving dinner when the façade of peace cracked.

 

 --------

 

“Claire darling, will you come here please?” Frank called from the living room.

Hearing the request, I carefully finished drying the crockery I’d just washed. Frank had bought it for us when we moved into our new house in Boston. With the tensions slowly rising between us, I’d been stepping carefully. The last thing I wanted was to accidentally break something and make him think I was unappreciative for all he’d done for me and little Brianna.

Delicately setting the plate on the counter, I dried my hands on the now mostly wet tea towel, and began walking towards Frank. I stopped just inside the living room to lean over Bree’s makeshift cot. As usual, she was sleeping like a champion. If she’d inherited anything from her father, it was the ability to sleep wherever and whenever she wanted.

With a small smile on my face, I walked the last few remaining steps to Frank.

“Yes, Frank?” I gently place my hand on his turned back.

He reached up and placed his hand on top of mine.

“Do you still care for me, Claire?” he asked lightly. He turned to look at me over his shoulder, a sardonic smile on his face, “Because you certainly don’t love me.”

I inhaled in shock. What an accusation. Where had this come from? A moment of silence hung between us, as fragile as the crockery I’d just painstakingly cleaned.

“You don’t deny it then?” he noted, the smile melting off his face, leaving a vengeful expression in its place. His lip twitched as his handhold on my wrist tightened to a uncomfortable grip.

“Here I am, sitting around like a fool, trying to convince everyone my wife loves me even though I’ve long since given up on convincing myself.” His eyes trailed slowly up and down my body, the intensity in his expression that left an anxious cold feeling inside me. “But I think they all know by now that I just married an elegant whore.”

My jaw tightened and anger rose in my chest like a kettle about to boil over.

“How dare you!” I snarled, painfully ripping my hand out of his. “I told you I loved Jamie when I came back. You knew exactly what you were getting into!” I took a few steps back in my rage, needing to distance myself from him immediately, but he too stood up and began walking towards me. “You can’t just blame me now because your fantasy of how we’d magically fall back in love didn’t work out! I have been trying, Frank! I -”

He lunged forward, reaching out to grab onto the side of my head before smashing into the mirror on the wall beside us.

And just like that … we shattered. What we were before could no longer be. What I was before could no longer be.

I took a deep breath, then another and another. I tried to focus my eyes but my vision still blurred before me. I don’t remember reaching up to touch my head, but I do remember pulling back my hand when I felt something wet, and seeing red.

Not quite comprehending what just happened, I stared up into Frank’s blank face. Our chests heaved together, not in sync, never in sync.

“I should go to the hospital,” I reasoned with myself out loud, still struggling through my shock.

Frank’s hand slowly rose to hold my chin in place, positioning my head to look up at his. He took a step forward so we were mere inches apart.

“No darling, you will not,” he crooned, as if talking to a small animal.

“But … this is a head wound. I’m bleeding. I need a doctor,” Claire countered softly, her voice stripped back to meek confusion.

He pulled her into his embrace, rubbing his hands up and down her arms soothingly, and shushed her softly.

“Frank,” she hesitated, pulling back to look into his eyes.

“You won’t be going to the hospital, darling. You’ll use those nursing skills you so like to brag about,” he looked over his shoulder, “now you go get yourself cleaned up while I see to Bree, you look simply dreadful.”

He released me and walked over the cot where Brianna was crying. Oh, Brianna was crying. Why hadn’t I heard her cries earlier? I looked from Brianna to my bloody hands, back to Brianna. Frank picked her up gently, cradling her in his hands. The same hands that had just harmed me.

“Do it now, Claire,” he advised, holding my child.

I walked out of the living room and with each step my chest tightened just a little more. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe.

It was the only mantra that allowed me to get from the living room to the bathroom in one piece. My mind was racing a million miles a minute and although I was trying my hardest to block it all out, I couldn't help but think: _What just happened?_

It took me a moment to realise that I had reached the bathroom sink. I ever so slowly looked up from my feet, to the mirror.

My breath froze in my chest as I viewed the stranger before me. There was this disconnect inside me. Although I still felt shock coursing through my system, one thing was becoming clear. I had brought a monster into my daughters’ life; Into Jamie’s daughters’ life. A monster who was holding her at that very moment.

I met the stranger’s eyes in the mirror.

Jamie would never forgive me.

A crash came from the kitchen, causing me to jump.

“Sorry darling, the crockery you left on the bench just seems to have … fallen,” he called out nonchalantly. “You’ll clean it up, won’t you Claire?”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. I looked back at my head wound which had just stopped bleeding, staring at it despondently. After a delayed moment, I yelled back to Frank over my shoulder.

“Of course, dear.”

I turned back to the mirror and sighed, opening the mirror cabinet to pull out the first aid kit.

_What had I gotten myself into?_


	2. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire gets past her shock and attempts an escape, but what weakness does Frank know about that might force her to stay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kind messages, keep up all your suggestions, I'm so keen to hear them. And I was so excited to release this second chapter, I couldn't even wait 24 hours after posting the first ahah now this really isn't a nice chapter, but it really does set the tone in Claire and Frank's relationship moving forward, as well as exposes Frank's mindset a little more.
> 
> **Trigger warnings - rape, emotional abuse

**Chapter Two: Escape**

Waking up the next morning, lying just inches from Frank, had been mildly terrifying.

He was still asleep and so I had the freedom to stare at my husband’s face as he slept.

How could I reconcile the monster from last night with the man I had known for 12 odd years, the man who Uncle Lamb had encourage me to marry, the man who I had run to when Culloden had ripped out my heart?

_I trusted you._

_Jamie trusted you._

I jolted into a sitting position. Brianna.

The defining reason why Jamie and I agreed that I needed to travel through the stones again was to protect our little girl. And if we stayed in that house one moment longer, there was a chance Frank could hurt Brianna too.

With a throbbing head, I quickly tip toed around the bedroom, collecting only the essential items. Grabbing a luggage bag from the hallway wardrobe, I quietly stowed away my clothes and a few items of jewelry I could porn off for some much needed cash. I checked over my shoulder to see Frank still fast asleep in our bed. Good. I left the bag in the hallway as I strode into Bree’s nursery, gathering clothes, nappies and blankets. With my arms bundled full of Bree’s stuff, I rushed back into the hallway, only to see Frank standing over the bag, intently holding one of my dresses in his hands.

“Going somewhere are we?” he asked in an impressed drawl.

I’d made the decision to try and escape, and although I’d been caught, I needed to attempt to see it through. I owed it to Jamie to keep our baby safe.

“You hurt me,” I whispered, letting the betrayal spill out of me. “You. Hurt. Me,” I repeated, this time with more strength.

Frank chuckled, deep in his throat. He looked at me in disgust and shook his head.

“Last night? Barely a scratch. No, Claire, you've been hurting me for months.”

Before I could reply, I heard Bree start stirring behind me. Frank jutted his head to the side. He’d heard it too and started to walk towards the nursery. I jumped into his path, the protective instincts within me rising faster than I thought possible.

“Claire, darling, move aside,” he ordered. When I simply swallowed nervously but refused to move, he gently stroked my cheek, saying “I’m not going to hurt our baby.”

Relief ran through me, but not enough to rid all the adrenaline from my system.

“As long as you don’t do anything … irrational,” he hesitated on the last word, looking intently down at me.

My eyes darted back to his. Just what was he threatening? 

 

“Okay,” Frank smirked shamelessly at my unease. His hand dropping from cupping my cheek to holding my hand. “Now how about we try our marriage again, and this time,” his voice dropped, “you leave the ghost out of our bedroom.”

My breath caught in my throat, frozen in the moment but scrambling to understand the implications of what he’d said.

_What would Jamie do?_

And then all at once, it hit me. I knew what Jamie would do because he’d already done something similar. My mind flashed back to the dirty prison cell in Wentworth. When given the ultimatum to either surrender his body or let me suffer, Jamie didn’t hesitate. And neither would I. Brianna was too precious.

“Okay,” I nodded slowly.

Tugging on my hand, I followed Frank helplessly into the bedroom. I swallowed. And swallowed again. I could do this. I must do this. Bree’s safety was at stake. I’d seen the way he held her last night. Frank was many things, and deliberate was one of them. His hints of threat were not idle. I couldn’t afford to forget that he’d been a leader in the war intelligence services for six years. He knew pain, and he’s spent a good amount of time ordering soldiers to go through it. There was a merciless side to him I’d never seen, before now that is.

Before I knew it, Frank had pushed me face down into the bed. I hadn’t changed out of my pyjamas yet, so all he needed to do was push my pants down before his fingers could enter me.

Was this what Jamie felt? An overwhelming sense of disgust and powerlessness?

_I should’ve just died with you, Jamie. Why did you push me away?_

I was dry, Frank and I both knew it. I was struggling to hold back tears not arousal. But nevertheless, Frank wanted me, and he wanted me to want him.

He turned me over, kissing my lips, neck and breasts roughly.

“Claire, darling,” he groaned, reaching down to tug on himself.

There were 17 flowers on our bedroom curtains. 6 were red, 6 were green, and 5 were purple.

“Dear god, Claire,” he panted into my ear, thrusting forcefully against my thighs.

There were 4 cracks in the ceiling. 1 was near the bedroom door, 2 were near our bathroom door, and one was just above our bed.

“Ennnngh,” he moaned, finally entering me in one quick shove of his shaking hips.

There were 29 books in the shelf. 2 of them were red, 23 of them were black, and 4 of them were grey.

“I love you, Claire,” Frank wheezed, his hand coming up to trap my face between his hand and the pillow. “You see that, don’t you?” he asked, too caught up in chasing his own climax to see the tears rolling down my cheeks. “Tell me you love me,” he pleaded.

When I stayed silent, he began to thrust harder, driving me up the bed, my head banging into the headboard with each thrust, opening up the head wound I’d had to stitch myself last night.

“Tell me you love, Claire! TELL ME!”

Pain had spread everywhere and it was all I could do to count the flowers, cracks and books to keep myself sane. If only I could transport my mind elsewhere, maybe I could walk away from this okay. But my efforts of avoidance and detachment were for nothing. Frank was shoving my sanity further and further away with each thrust.

“I love you, Frank,” I sobbed, giving in, hoping it would satisfy him.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his forehead leaning down to press against mine. “DO IT!”

And suddenly, it wasn’t Frank before me, it was Captain Jack Randall. I’d heard the Captain shout those exact words as he held me to his desk in Fort William, Jamie pointing an empty gun at him.

_Jamie._

_Jamie went through this for me. I could go through it for him. For Brianna._

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I cried, pushing through the pain.

“Scream my name, Claire,” Frank ordered, speeding up his thrusts, sweat pouring from his body and landing onto mine like droplets of acid.

_Jamie got through this by thinking of me. Okay. Alright, Claire Fraser, you can do this. It’s just a while longer. Think of Jamie. Frank will not break me with Jamie in my thoughts._

Jamie, and his unruly copper hair. Jamie, and his mischievous half-smile. Jamie, and his intent gaze as he prowled towards me in bed. Jamie, and his gentle touch tucking my hair behind my ears.

“Scream it, Claire.”

Jamie, threatening to throw me over his shoulder if I didn’t come with him. Jamie, holding me as I cried before the fireplace. Jamie, kissing me hesitantly at the altar. Jamie, draping his mother’s pearls over my neck.

“You can do it, Darling. Do it for me, Claire. Scream my name.”

Jamie, playing with locks of my hair in bed. Jamie, kissing my pregnant belly. Jamie, whispering Gaelic secrets to our unborn baby. Jamie, bowing to me before leaving for the Battle of Prestopans.

“Scream it!”

Jamie, thrusting into me lovingly. Jamie, carving the C into the base of my thumb. Jamie, kissing me through our tears.

“JAAAAAMIE!” I shouted, needing him with me more than ever as I experienced the worst pain of my life.

_Come to me, Jamie. Hold me. Make me feel safe._

Frank suddenly halted his agonizingly brutal thrusts. I came back to myself, realising what I’d just done. He looked at me stonily, before reeling his fist back.

The force of his punch knocked me out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think of the new development in Claire and Franks relationship? Do you think I should skip through moments (years) in time to highlight the changes in dynamics Claire and Frank have in the future? Or should the next few chapter be based in the following few days? Keep in mind, I am trying to keep this realistic and I'm definitely looking at promoting character development in Claire, Frank and Brianna. Talking about Brianna, how do you think she should fit into this household? Is she oblivious, does Frank ever hurt her, or does Brianna notice the tension between her parents and immaturely blame Claire? 
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


	3. The Fire Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since we all know previously that Claire doesn't take too kindly to being beaten ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Trigger warnings, physical violence

**Chapter Three: Fire Within**

When I began to wake up, all I could feel was the throbbing in my cheek. It had been a few days since the bruise had been doled but was only just starting to go away. I had been house ridden for the whole time, Frank not wanting any intruding questions from strangers, or worse, people we knew. The days since had been relatively normal; though I had been walking on egg shells, Frank acted like those 24 hours never happened. He had made no reference to his actions, coming home from work each day to kiss Brianna and me on the forehead, pretending I didn’t flinch every time he tried.

It had been surprising to say the least. However, if he thought just because he’d seemingly put that encounter in the past, that I was willing to do the same, he had another thing coming. The house arrest had done nothing but reinforce my position as prisoner. On the first night, I had been shocked. The following morning, I had been determined. The past few days, I had been timid. Now… now I was furious.

_How fucking dare he._

The breaking point came when I entered our shared bedroom to see him laying out some of my clothes on the bed.

“Darling, good timing,” he called out over his shoulder. “I’ve laid out a dress for you to wear tonight. We’re having a dinner at my boss’ home. We leave in 30 minutes.” He turned around to see my panicked face. “And don’t worry, dear, I’ve arranged for one of my students to babysit Bree.”

My hands clenched by my side in anger. _Oh really? We’re going? Just at the snap of your fingers?_

Just as I opened my mouth to unleash exactly what I thought about his demands, he sauntered over to me and grasped my chin in his hand, shifting my head so he could see the bruise.

“And you really ought to cover that ghastly bruise. We don’t want them getting the wrong impression,” he drawled haughtily.

I ripped my chin out of his hold and beared my teeth at him.

“And just what is the wrong impression, _darling_?” I sneered, shoving at his chest. “That you hit and rape your wife? I’m sure your boss would be so intrigued to find out just who Frank Randall really is. Who knows, I might just - ”

Frank wrenched me towards him, pressing our bodies flat against one another. He reached around and yanked on my hair, leaving me to strain my neck vulnerably against his pull. He leaned down to drag his nose against the length of my neck, inhaling deeply, before moving to press his forehead against mine.

“You really do exaggerate, darling,” he murmured affectionately. “You just … you don’t treat me like you should.” He looked longingly into my eyes. “I deserve better, Claire.”

He released me and took a step back, refusing to acknowledge my gaping anger.

“Now, you will behave tonight,” he continued, smoothing down the already crisp lines of suit. “I expect exemplary - ”

“Submissiveness?” I interrupted, my eyes blazing.

Frank looked up from his patting down of himself, his eyes narrowing in focus.

“Yes.”

“Franklin Wolverton Randall, I am many things but I am not - ”

“If I am expected to take you back after you repeatedly fucked some savage and betrayed all your vows to me, you can be submissive for. One. Fucking. Night,” he spat, glaring daggers at me.

I was stunned into silence. What he was saying wasn’t … unreasonable. Was it?

“You didn’t have to take me back, Frank,” I started softly.

“And yet I did, didn’t I?” he strode towards me, seething. “Now put on the fucking dress and the good housewife act, because I will not lose that job promotion due to your insolence. Do you understand me?”

The silence lay between us like a minefield; where to step without causing an explosion?

“Frank,” I looked sadly into his eyes, seeing his anger wane, “I never meant to hurt you, you know that right?”

The last remnants of his anger left him in a sharp exhale. He looked briefly down in thought before slowly returning his eyes to mine, his expression reflecting a distance longing in them. We both knew what the silence meant. How could we ever be what we once were? Our happy relationship years ago seemed so far away, so impossible to reach.

“Well it looks like we both became people we never planned to,” Frank declared forlornly, walking with heavy feet to the bed.

He sat down resignedly, wringing his hands in his lap. A few contemplative minutes passed before he spoke again.

“I’m sorry I hit you.”

Their eyes met across the room.

“You’re damn right you’re sorry, Frank,” I replied, pursing my lips together.

Anger flew across his face before exhaustion took its place.

“You’re my wife, Claire,” he sighed. “And I can detect the exact moment your mind flickers to a time when you were another man’s wife. A man, you’ve made very clear, you wish you were with instead of me. And each time I see it, this rage just builds inside of me, and I can’t control it. I just can’t understand why you’re not trying to make this work. Us work.”

“Oh Frank, I have been. I - ”

“Bullshit,” he stood suddenly. “Bullshit you’ve been trying. You don’t want to move on from _him_. I’m competing with a ghost for Christ sake,” he threw his hands in the air exasperated. “And you’re so caught up in mourning this momentary fling with some dreamy Highlander that you can’t see the man in front of you!”

His breaths were leaving him raggedly, his feelings of inadequacy plain on his face.

“Is that it? Am I not muscular enough? Am I not dominant enough? Do I need to play out those trashy romance novels you so love to read?” he shouted wildly. “What will it take Claire? What can I do?”

He strode over to me once again, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking.

“Tell me! Because I’m losing my fucking mind here, _darling_. I’ve been trying for over a year to be kind and empathetic and patient but all I can feel lately is this uncontrollable madness!”

He was shouting so loudly he was spitting, and his hair fell haphazardly out of its carefully gelled placement. The look in his eyes was not so different from Black Jack Randall’s in Wentworth, frantic and beastly.

Tears welled in my eyes. What I turned him into? Had I forced him to become this violently insecure man? I felt beyond guilty but I also couldn’t restrain my own anger.

“So you decided that I deserved to become your punching bag? So you could let loose some steam? Was that it? Or were you hoping your punches could mould me into the wife you wanted?” I spat back in his face.

He slapped me with his backhand, one of his rings striking my bruised cheekbone.

“How dare y - ” I screamed, before the sound of the doorbell broke us both out of our angry bubble.

“I’m telling her to go away,” I muttered as I began marching towards the staircase, our bedroom being on the second floor.

I heard Frank yelling non-sensibly at the same time I heard the front door open and some blonde bimbo walk inside hesitantly.

“Claire, we are _going_ to this dinner,” he yelled, his voice catching up to me.

“Fuck your promotion,” I called over my shoulder haughtily, before turning back to the uncomfortable looking girl in my living room, waving my hands haphazardly at her. “Go home, we - ”

I felt the ground beneath me fall from under my feet, my body suddenly rocketing forwards at an alarming speed. I tried to catch myself but to no end. I fell down the stairs, feeling each step dig in and batter my body.

I lay in a heap at the bottom, trying to remember how to breathe.

Blurrily, I looked up to the top of the stairs to see Frank standing at the top stoically.

“Frank?” I mouthed.

“Oh gosh, oh golly gosh, are you okay ma’am?” an annoyingly high-pitched Boston accent pulled from focus away from my husband.

As she rushed to my side, Frank began a quick descent of the stairs.

“I tried to pull her back but I couldn’t get a hold of her, she just tripped,” Frank explained with fake panic.

My chest felt like a car had settled on it.

 _Breathe, dammit_.

My nose was burning. Was it broken? I reached a shaky hand up to my face to try and feel but Frank’s hand intercepted mine, kissing the back of my palm. He looked over at the girl.

“Call an ambulance,” he ordered.

As she ran off to find our house phone, Frank leaned down into my ear.

“Don’t say a word,” he breathed threateningly.

He pulled away minutely to stare darkly into my eyes, his hand brushing my hair out of the blood on my face.

With wide eyes, all I could do was nod jerkily.

“They’re on their way,” a voice shouted distantly.

The world around me blurred. I didn’t have enough oxygen to sustain me.

 _Breathe, dammit_.

The world went blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Suggestions? I love it when you're detailed *wink wink* 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting, ya'll are babes :)


	4. To Feel Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire attempts to reach out for help for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since ya'll have been so lovely reading and commenting, I felt so inspired to write another chapter. So here you go, another chapter within 24 hrs of the last. Don't get used to it ahaha

“What a nasty fall, Mrs Randall,” Doctor Dixon exclaimed in a terrible nasally voice.

 He’d burst into my hospital room with his coat swinging, his posture domineering, and his condescension unyielding. He’d walked right up to my bedside table, picked up my medical paper and immediately looked to see if my husband was in the room before speaking. Directly to Frank mind you; I wasn’t a part of the conversation.

“Yes it was rather a nasty fall, Doctor. We haven’t really had any news since before Claire woke up,” Frank walked over to me and pulled my hand into his, clenching harder when he felt me try to pull away. I bit my lip and glared at him before halting my efforts. “So will she be okay?”

“Well she came in with a mild concussion, fortunately the 15 hours she was unconscious for mostly fixed that. If she experiences any dizziness, just tell her to sit down for a moment and it’ll pass,” the doctor said listlessly, looking back and forth between Frank and the paper in front of him. “The biggest thing to worry about is her knee.”

Doctor Dixon finally looked down at me, albeit with a patronizing smile.

“You sure are clumsy, Mrs Randall,” he crooned cheekily. He dropped his hand from my medical sheet to gently pat at my knee, ignoring my responding flinch. “She’s torn her meniscus unfortunately,” he turned back to Frank sympathetically.

“Is it a horizontal tear?” Claire asked hopefully, looking between the two men in front of her.

“The scans came back to show us it was a radical tear,” Dickhead Dixon continued, never even sparing a glance my way.

“What exactly does that mean, Doctor?” Frank questioned worriedly. He, too, didn’t bother letting me enter the conversation about _my_ medical health.

“Well if you’ll see here,” Dickhead called Frank over to view my MRI scans in the back corner. “The tear is in the avascular zone of the meniscus, where there’s very little blood supply. For most patients, we’d recommend a Meniscectomy surgery, but we can all see how fragile your wife is, so the hospital would understand if you thought a surgery might do more harm than good.”

Claire shot into a sitting position, ignoring the ache all through her body reminding her to take it easy.

“I need surgery,” Claire exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “There’s no chance the tear will heal correctly without it.”

The two men looked over at her with raised noses and pursued lips, not uttering a sound.

“Yes,” Frank started, turning back to the Doctor, “I can see why you’d think the surgery might be too much for her. She is rather hysterical, isn’t she?” The two of them had a good ole laugh over that one.

_Good God Franklin, if only I could wipe that smirk off your face, I bloody well would._

I wanted to hurt him. While I didn’t see him push me down the stairs, I certainly felt the push from behind. I felt dizzy with how fast the blood was rushing to my head, my frustration consuming me.

“I require a policeman this instant,” Claire declared, raising his chin in the air. “This man pushed me down the stairs. He gave me this injury, and now he’s attempting to withhold my right to medical care.”

Frank’s smile melted from his face like dripping wax might fall from a burning candle. He flexed his fingers by his side, an action only I could see. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, obviously preparing to berate me properly. I’d hurt his ego and I’d ruined the perfect image he’s wanted to portray of himself to the Doctor.

“Now, now, Mrs Randall,” Dickhead Dixon scorned, tilting his head to the side. “Just what evidence do you have to support this grave accusation?”

I pointed to my head in a jerky movement, my breath coming short now with my dizziness.

“Surely in your examination of me you saw the stiches in my head and the days old bruise on my face?” Claire yelled, outraged of the obvious display of sexism in front of her. Why in the world was he not even considering her perspective? He had taken an oath to protect patients at all costs, and there I was, telling him my husband was hurting me, and yet … nothing. “He hits me!”

The Doctor just stared at me down his sweaty nose, the condescension poured out from behind his thin glasses. He gave me a small smile before waving me off.

“I can see why he might, deary.”

He turned to Frank and gave a small nod before strutting out of the room with the same dramatic flair as he had entered. Frank just stared me down with his lip twitching.

“Disgusting,” he muttered before making his exit.

I was left staring incredulously at the space where he previously stood.

_Just how quickly had my life turned into a shit show?_

Minutes had gone by, I think, before someone came into my room again. I looked up and saw it was the blonde bimbo babysitter. She was holding Brianna in her arms. With a bright smile and a swish of her hair, she handed Bree into my reaching arms.

 _Oh my baby_.

Bree instantly started nudging my chest with her nose. Damn, if I’d been out for 15 hours, Bree must’ve been quite hungry. I pulled down my hospital gown without any self-consciousness and straight away Bree moved her lips to breast and began to suckle eagerly.

_Poor sweetheart, I’m sorry I made you wait._

After a few seconds of stroking Bree’s fine copper hair, I remembered that the girl was still hovering over me. When I looked up, I saw the nauseated fascination in her face. As she saw me move, she quickly schooled her expression to something more polite.

“Did you see him push me?” I demanded in a low voice.

She quickly inhaled in shock, her hands flying to nervously fix her hair and clothes.

“No, ma’am,” she stuttered. “You should be more careful.”

Bimbo began fumbling her way out my hospital room before she spun around anxiously.

“Frank and I going for lunch. He said he’ll come see you later once you’ve settled down,” she tucked a lock behind her hair, eyes not meeting mine.

As she began to turn, I spoke again.

“Frank, is it?” I murmured spitefully. “Not Professor Randall?”

Her eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed red. Understandably, she ran the last few steps out of my room.

_Good._

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the out of control feeling bubbling in my chest. I looked down and continued stroking Brianna’s hair.

“Shush shush shush, shush shush shush,” I sang quietly, rocking her back and forth slightly, trying to get her to go to sleep.

Her little hand reached up and landed in my curls. Luckily she didn’t pull as she’d been known to recently. She just rested her warm little hand there and looked innocently up into my eyes.

“Oh baby girl, I love you,” I hiccupped, the tears I’d been trying so hard to hold back, falling. “How did we get here?”

 I leaned down to kiss Bree’s forehead, needing to feel close to her. My hiccups slowly turned into small quiet sobs, and it was all I could do to continue to hold Bree. Everything was finally catching up to me. It felt like the first time I’d really accepted my reality. I’d become exactly what I despised, weak.

A few high pitched chirps pulled me out of my morbid reverie. I looked over to the window seeing a little blue bird dancing on the edge of the window sill, singing a beautiful little tune. The sight sparked a little happiness inside me. Maybe I wasn’t as alone as I thought.

“See, Brianna?” I looked down into her eyes. “Your father is still here in his own way. And he wants me to tell you, he loves you, very much.”

The last tear drop fell onto Brianna’s soft cheek as I slowly gathered myself together. Taking a deep breath, I felt myself escape into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Suggestions?
> 
> I've really been listening to the direction many of you seem to want this fic to go and I've finally started envisioning how Claire gets back to Jamie (which they defs will don't worry ahaha). So thank you guys so much sharing your creativity with me, keep it coming :)


	5. A Discreet Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire's got a plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after some heavy evaluation, I've decided that Claire's journey and recovery of domestic violence needs to reflect her obvious feminist attitudes. It probably helps that I'm feminist af and I just want to see Claire be a BAMF or at the very least, a strong independent woman that don't need no man ahaha. Also, to answer to all the beautiful humans who have commented and given suggestions, I have in fact been swayed from my original intentions, and the Frank/Claire abuse will not be years and years and years. But while I have a good idea of what will be the turning point for Frank and Claire, I am a little unsure where to go from this chapter, so please feel free to do your thaaang and drop some recommendations and creative genius ahah

The next two years went by in equal parts deference and rebellion. I needed to find a way to leave Frank for good but I couldn’t do so without money, which I couldn’t have without a job, which I couldn’t have without Frank noticing. And I was betting that if he caught wind that I was trying to find the means to leave him, he would immediately start planting the ideas of my adultery in others heads; that way if I tried to divorce him, Brianna would go to Frank.  The man certainly knew how to give me the right incentives to remain obedient to him and our marriage.

So I learned how to not flinch at his kisses, how to pretend like I enjoyed his ministrations in bed, how to smile prettily at his boss, and how to successfully not rise to bate every time I wanted to fight back. This learned submission was not something I was proud of, but every woman eventually gives into survival instincts, and unfortunately for my situation, it was neither fight nor fight I gave into; it was passivity.

And, for the most part, it worked. Yes, he sometimes slammed doors too loudly, made crude comments about my body or behaviour, picked out my clothes, and restricted my access to our finances, but it was very rarely physical violence, and for that I was thankful.

After my time in the hospital, Frank seemed to show some remorse for his actions, or more likely, embarrassment at his own distemper; either way, he backed off. Luckily, his self-reflection coincided with his blooming relationship with the babysitter from that fateful night, who I later learned was named Mallory.

For the most part, I was glad that Frank’s attentions had been redirected. It meant that he often didn’t come home until late, if at all. And it wasn’t as hard for me to only have to turn on the submissive act for roughly ten hours a week. I didn’t like it but I decided that I could handle it, for now.

I had a plan, well more like a goal. I didn’t quite know how I was going to go to medical school, but if Frank continued to stay away from home, perhaps he wouldn’t notice my absence. If I was covert enough about it, I could study part time and once I graduated, I could get a job and start saving for a divorce. It was stretch, but I was determined. Jamie, bless his soul, wouldn’t want this life for me or his daughter. But he also wouldn’t want me to put us at unnecessary risk, so I needed to be smart about it.

Over the three years since I had come back through the stones, the ghost of Jamie had given me the support and hope I needed to get through this. I saw him in Brianna’s eyes, in the song of birds, and in the memory of his mother’s pearls. During the times I wanted to claw Frank’s eyes out for something he’d done, I’d feel Jamie’s imaginary hand on my shoulder reminding me _“it’s not worth it, Sassenach”_.

So I stuck it out.

Sometimes I’d pace the floors of our home, fuming at the injustice of my situation. Other times, I’d stare at myself in the mirror – my chin high despite the tears tracking down my cheeks. And in the moments I rarely admitted to the next morning, I counted all the colours of the books, the cracks in the ceiling, and the number of flowers in our curtains. I’d count them over and over, trying to squash the terrified voice inside of me that whispered _maybe you deserved it._

As much as I tried to squash that voice, it would visit me at the most inopportune moments. I’d stare at my naked body in the mirror and wonder if Frank lavished Mallory’s body like he used to lavish mine. Or occasionally I’d see Frank starring at Brianna with an undeniable sadness in his brown eyes, and I’d inwardly apologise for bringing a reminder of my infidelity into our home.

I know those thoughts weren’t exactly fair to me, but they were hard to run from. There were only so many places to hide from your own mind.

I learned how to survive without kindness, gentleness, or consideration. I felt like a lone firefighter trying to keep the fire from reaching a town, but unable to stop it from burning all the forest. It was an impossible task and I knew one day I’d crash, but it wouldn’t be today.

“Not today, not today.”

I repeated the mantra under my breath as I tepidly approached Boston University with my textbooks and a notepad bundled in my rigid arms. I let out a small breath when I realised I was the first person to arrive to class; it would give me a minute to put on my game face – I couldn’t let the men around me see the fear on my face, it would just be ammunition they needed to condemn me from the course.

It had been hard enough trying to get the money to enrol in the first semester, given Frank’s control over our finances. But I’d done it, and I was determined to follow through with it.

The class began filing in one by one, each male throwing either a repulsed or shocked look at me. One even had the audacity to call out “Ma’am this is medicine, I think you might be in the wrong class,” to which I responded tightly, “No I’m exactly where I need to be, thank you.”

I knew coming into this, it would be tough. But at the same time as trying to prove my resolve for a better future, I needed to admit that I was weary. I just wanted things to be easier already. I wanted to not have to try so damn hard all the time. And yet here I was, voluntarily putting myself in another situation where I get made to feel uncomfortable and unworthy.

I was pulled out of my self-doubt when a tall well-dressed black man entered the room. He hoveredhovered nervously just inside the doorway, surveying the crowd and taking a deep breath. When his eyes landed on me he gave a small smile of which I returned, equally nervous. Kindred spirits then.

He stoically ignored the stares of our other white male classmates and walked up to the spare seat next to me.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked with a gentle timbre.

“It’s yours,” I waved my hand over the spare space on the desk, smiling sympathetically.

As we both assembled our notes and pencils ready for class, he noticed my slightly shaking hands and leaned towards me.

“Don’t let the system get you down. The fact that you’re here shows you’ve got enough grit to make it,” he nodded his head to the white men behind us, of whom were smoothing out their crisp suits.

I took a deep breath, attempting to heed his words and calm my nerves. After a moment, I opened my eyes and extended my hand out.

“Claire Randall.”

“Joe Abernathy,” he smiled, grasping my hand in his.

Well at least maybe I would I have one ally in all this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think should be in the next chapter? Should it time jump? Should it be between Claire/Frank, Claire/Joe, Claire/Brianna, or Claire by herself/memory of Jamie? Also, what new emotional aspect should I explore next of Claire's situation? I'm attempting to cover all the bases but now that I've done the obvious ones, it's become a little more difficult xx
> 
> Ps the name Mallory means unfortunate, ill intention, or tragic


	6. This is how I survive, Joe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire opens up to Joe and we find out how Claire recovered from her fall down the stairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet guys, wooooo! 3, 555 words. That's like triple the length of the last few chapters! 
> 
> So in the last chapter, I had kind of forgotten to address Claire's knee, which Maddy1966 brought to my attention. So now I've tried to sneakily put it in like that was my intention all along ahaha
> 
> If you're keen for a soundtrack to reading this, I was inspired to write this by Emelie Sande's song "Sweet Architect".
> 
> Finally, there are some trigger warnings for this chapter, not for violence but for lowkey gore and blood, it's in the second major italics flashback, so just skip over that and you'll be fine.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy, fam!

“Please ensure you turn up to tomorrow’s exam well-prepared. If your answers are below par, I will not hesitate to fail you,” the Professor looked straight at Joe and me from behind his precocious spectacles.

After a prolonged intimidating stare, he relented, waving his hand in dismissal to the class.

The men who sat in the back of the classroom lifted their heads in shock following by immediate panic at seeing everyone starting to pack up. They scurried their belongings together in haphazard piles and whispered amongst themselves about last minute and much needed studying.

The men who sat at the front of the class deftly packed up their belongings and descended the stairs with their shoulders back, noses in the air, and their mouth blabbering some narcissistic nonsense.

Both types of students no longer paid any heed to Joe and I, who were the only ones who sat in the middle – not fitting in with any group. It was the end of our first year and either the white men got sick of being assholes or they got sick of our lack of response to their asshole-ery.

In the face of all this mockery, Joe and I had bonded. We understood the others desire to triumph. We both wanted to prove to the world that despite being a woman or black, that we were just as capable. What Joe didn’t know, however, was that I needed to prove my worth not just as a woman, but as a person.

It had been a long 4 years of feeling like half a person. Frank hadn’t realised I was going to medical school, thank God, however, he had noticed a change in my behaviour. Having a purpose (outside of being a mother to Brianna) had made my mind sharper, my behaviour more assertive, and the fact I was hiding a secret, obvious.

Frank was still dating Mallory and possibly an assortment of other women, I didn’t ask; his infidelity meant I could pursue the escape plan for Brianna and I. But in the past year, whenever Frank had bothered to come home, he had noticed the change in me, and needless to say, he hadn’t liked it.

The two years prior had been full of passive aggression, but since starting medical school, it had incrementally reversed back into the physical violence that defined the new era of our relationship. He’d now shove me into a wall, throw dishes at me, or occasionally slap me.

I hated it. I hated him.

At first, when these instances began happening, I’d told myself I was just humouring him and that’s why I didn’t fight back. I had a plan to take Bree away somewhere safe, but that wouldn’t work out if I was locked in jail for the murder of my husband and she was lost to the foster system. However, after a few honest conversations with myself, I had unwillingly admitted that I was genuinely afraid of him. When he pushed me down the stairs, he wasn’t playing around. He could have killed me. He had made the split decision to put me in a position so dangerous that I could have died; and he didn’t think twice about it. And just because he was only pushing me around right now, didn’t mean that it couldn’t escalate in a moments notice. And that terrified me.

It also made me hate myself a little, too.

I had killed before - both Dougal and an English deserter. I had also been willing to die – both with Jamie at Culloden and at the hospital front lines of WWII. But after 4 years with Frank, I was finally scared of death.

Sometimes when I let my mind wander, I’d wonder if Jamie would be disappointed.

In those moments, I’d reel myself back viciously, reminding myself that regardless of if I was scared or just humouring him, I needed to go along with Frank’s mood swings to succeed in my plan; either way, it was the desire to survive that motivated me through the hard days.

 _Jamie’s not here anymore, anyway,_ I’d tell myself. _He chose Culloden; he doesn’t get to judge how I choose to survive in the wake of that._

It had shocked me, but I had grown more and more angry at Jamie. None of this would have happened if Jamie chose literally ANYTHING ELSE. He could’ve let me die with him, he could’ve run away with me, or he could’ve asked me to live with Ian and Jenny. But no, he condemned me to this life. And while neither of us could’ve known Frank would turn out like this, he still pushed me away when I needed him most.

So yes, I was bloody well angry with one James Fraser.

But God if I didn’t still dream of him; holding me, kissing away my tears, brushing my hair away from my face, or smiling sweetly at me. For four years, I’d held onto a ghost for comfort.

The culmination of all these wild feelings and thoughts were slowly killing me, but of course, Joe didn’t know any of this.

Joe. He’d become a good friend to me this past year. He had encouraged me when I thought I might crumble and he had celebrated all of my victories as if they were his own. My time with him was the closest thing I had to respite and I couldn’t be more grateful for him, even if I couldn’t tell him why.

“You ready, Lady Jane?” he asked enthusiastically, picking up the last of his belongings from the desk.

“For what exactly?” I replied with a small smile on my face, confused by his excitement.

“We’re going to the dive bar,” he said smartly, leading the way out of the auditorium.

“Ugh Joe,” I halted, “I have to get home, there’s so much study to do and I need to relieve the babysitter.”

Brianna had become a loud frenetic ball of energy by age three. Her language skills had improved considerably in the past few months, and while that milestone was fantastic, it was also exhausting having a 3 year old argue with you over things they don’t have a full capacity to understand yet. It had tried _my_ patience let alone our poor babysitter, Konstantina, a 60 year old Polish immigrant with a warm smile and a no-nonsense attitude.

“Nope, I’m not hearing it,” Joe looked over his shoulder at me, “we both deserve this break before knuckling down for the night. Come on, we both know we’re going to do well on this exam, we’ve been studying for weeks,” his voice dropped to a more gentle tone, “you’ll do great, you always do, LJ.”

I exhaled deeply, he was right and I knew it, but it was hard to stop myself from stressing.

“Okay,” I relinquished. Seeing Joe pump his fist in the air, I gave a little laugh and said,” just for a little while though, I need to get home before Frank does.”

“Yeah sure thing, Lady Jane,” Joe grinned like a little boy.

I rolled my eyes exasperatedly, drawing a little chuckle from my friend.

“So how are you and Frank going, anyways?” Joe asked, holding the door open for me, inadvertently letting the cold gust of wind from outside hit me like a brick wall.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” I pulled my jacket tightly around me, mentally reprimanding myself for only wearing a light coat.

Joe grunted behind me in agreement, buttoning up his dark grey coat. After a few minutes of walking in silence, he asked again, “So? You didn’t answer the question. How is it going? Is Frank enjoying the promotion?”

“Um yes, he is, I suppose,” I responded awkwardly. “He’s enjoying the extra challenge of being Head Convenor of History, as opposed to just being a professor. It means he gets a bit more control over the curriculum and such,” I grinned up at Joe jokily, “and I think he likes the extra respect that comes with that authority.”

“Of course he does,” Joe laughed. “I imagine that must mean long hours?”

“Yeah,” I exhaled, “but it doesn’t bother me at all.”

Joe stopped me with a firm hand on my shoulder, ignoring the cold for a moment. I swung around, surprised.

“What’s that matter?” I asked when he just stood there, looking at me quizzically.

“Well, Lady Jane, it’s just,” he looked down for a moment, taking a breath, “sometimes it seems like you’re glad that your husband isn’t around. And I guess,” he took another breath and looked up to stare deeply into my eyes, “I guess I worry at what might cause you to feel like that.” He waited a moment, to see if I would respond, and when I didn’t he continued, “So I think what I’m trying to ask, LJ, is everything okay at home?”

I froze at his question. After four years … the Doctor at the hospital could have asked, Mallory could have asked, our neighbours could have asked, Frank’s co-workers or their wives could have asked. And as much time that I’d spent inwardly pleading for someone to notice, for someone to care, for someone to ask if I was alright, now that the question had finally come, I’d do anything to avoid having to answer it.

“Joe,” I laughed, desperately hoping my deflection would work and he’d drop the subject, “where is this coming from? Frank and I aren’t best friends but that doesn’t mean anything is wrong. We’re a married couple, we have our ups and downs.”

_Shit, I’d rambled._

Joe just kept staring at me, not at all deterred by my response.

“Yeah, Gail and I have our moments too. But you have more downs than ups, and your downs seem to be a bit more serious than ours,” Joe reached out to hold my hand, his other hand gently tracing the feint bruises shaped like Frank’s fingers.

I snatched by hand back, angry that Joe had broached the subject. He’d been someone I could forget about it all with, but here he was taking that away from me. I began walking away from him, faster and faster. Damn, my knee had begun to ache from the cold and the exercise. It wasn’t used to these conditions.

 _Breathe through it, Claire, it’ll go away as soon as you can sit at the bar_ , I told myself. _Dammit, do you even want to go the dive bar with Joe anymore?_

Joe easily caught up to me with his long legs. I refused to look at him and he, in turn, didn’t say anything. He reached for the door to the dive bar, pulling that open so I could walk through and escape the arctic temperatures. The warm atmosphere instantly enveloped me, allowing me to let out a breath that had kept my chest tight for the past few minutes.

The two of us silently found a small booth in the corner, away from the smokers who took up the majority of the seats by the bar and the pool table. We sat opposite each other, me looking anywhere but him, and him refusing to look anywhere but at me. The bartender came over, recognising his favourite regulars, asking “the usual?” We both nodded, and waited in silence for him to prepare two dry whiskeys. It was a few minutes after receiving our drinks that I exasperatedly acknowledged Joe, who had been shifting uncomfortably in his seat for a while now, looking like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“Out with it,” I demanded before downing the rest of drink and signalling to our bartender for another.

“You limp,” Joe said simply.

I waited for him to continue but when he didn’t I just raised my eyebrow and said flatly, “what?”

“Your knee hurts you when it’s cold or when you overwork it. I’ve never asked why because it could’ve been hurt for a multitude of reasons,” he waved his hands about listlessly. “You could have fallen off a horse, or twisted it playing sport, or at any point going on all those adventures with your Uncle Lamb,” Joe hesitated, taking a breath. “But you’ve never brought it up yourself, like you never bring up the topic of Frank. And so, I’ve noticed these bruises, and I’ve noticed your limp and …” he looked agonised trying to finish the sentence, but I wasn’t going to make it easier for him one goddamn bit, “and I’m wondering if the two are connected somehow?”

He levelled a stare at me that said _I’m not letting this go, Claire, so just tell me the truth_. I downed my latest drink, and signalled for another one. Downing that drink, I began to talk.

“I did a minor surgery on myself,” I blurted, not really knowing how to start.

“What?” Joe exclaimed sharply, straightening in his seat.

“I know we haven’t covered the knees in class yet, but do you know about the meniscus?” Joe nodded silently so I continued hesitantly. “Well I had radical tear in my meniscus and my doctor refused to perform surgery on me to remove the torn flap of cartilage. I told him I needed it, that I was a nurse and I understood that a radidal tear doesn’t allow for much blood around the injury to heal on its own. He and Frank… they decided a surgery would do more harm than good … I disagreed.”

The longer I spoke, the more lost in my thoughts I became.

 

 _Doctor Dickhead Dixon discharged me without so much as a warm smile. He simply entered my room a few hours after Mallory handed Brianna over to me, and sneered at my breastfeeding. I detached my baby girl and self-consciously lifted my hospital dress to hide my chest_.

 _“We’ve been monitoring your vitals for the past 24 hours and you’ve shown no signs of instability or illness. As such, the hospital can no longer afford to keep a bed available to you,” he dropped some documents onto my lap_. “ _Sign your discharge papers, hand them over to the front desk on your way out, and you’re free to go,” he gave me a plastic smile and began walking out, calling a “do be more careful next time” over his shoulder on the way out._

_The bastard._

_I stared angrily at the door, still panicked about the idea of not receiving surgery for my knee. I decided to test it out, so I laid Brianna down on the bottom of the bed and threw my legs over the side. Ever so slowly, I put pressure on my feet, desperately hoping it would be fine._

_I pushed off from the bed… and almost collapsed._

_“Jesus H. Roosevelt Chris,” I huffed through the pain. I looked to my right and saw my clothes sitting on a chair in the far corner. I just needed to reach them._

_‘You can do this Claire Fraser! You’ve been through worse,’ I thought, giving myself a pep talk._

_Have I, though?_

_Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself up, wincing at the flare of pain running down my leg. With my eyes closed, I grasped at the end of my bed and put one foot in front of the other, wincing each time I put pressure on my right leg. I stood still when the foot of the bed finished. I opened my eyes and stared at the space between me and the chair._

_‘Just a few steps, maybe four,’ I reasoned with myself._

_Gritting my teeth, I pushed off the bed and propelled myself forward to the chair. With a loud cry tearing out of my throat, I collapsed onto my clothes in the chair._

_After a few moments of just trying to breath, I moved all my weight to one side and pulled the clothes out from under me. Holding the clothes out in front of me, I tried to figure out how to put them on without having to stand up._

_Ten minutes later, after a few concerned glances thrown my way by hassled nurses, I reached the front desk. The walk here had been excruciating, but at least now that I had reached the desk I could stand still and put the majority of weight on one foot. I did and gasped, feeling immediate relief._

_The lady behind the counter just raised an eyebrow, holding a hand out to receive my signed discharge papers._

_“Alright,” she looked down momentarily, “Mrs Randall, you’re free to go.”_

_I nodded, wondering where I might find Frank, and if I could borrow the desks’ phone to call Frank to come find me instead, when the other lady behind the counter startled._

_“Mrs Randall, you said?” she looked between her co-worker and me. “Your husband left $10 for you as well as a note,” she said handing over the money and a piece of paper._

_Frowning, I looked over the note._

**_Claire, darling, here’s some money to get a taxi home. I’ll see you later tonight. Frank._ **

_“What bullshit,” I muttered under my breath._

_“What was that?” the lady asked indignantly._

_“Nothing,” I tried to smile sweetly, it wasn’t her fault that I now had to get myself home._

_So I took a deep breath, before asking “could you please call a taxi for me?”_

_Twenty minutes later, I waved at the impatient taxi man parked in front of hospital, tears falling down my face freely. It had been a long, hard walk downstairs. I couldn’t focus on anything else but ‘keep going’. Breathe, step, breathe, step._

_Sitting in the car gave me relief from the pain, my mind remembering that I hadn’t been in that much pain since Faith’s birth. Looking out the window, I tried to decide what to do next. I couldn’t go on like this, it was much too painful._

_An idea came to my head and my eyes flashed to view myself in the rear-view mirror. I had performed the surgery before, during the Second World War. Could I?_

_Dreading having to walk the distance from the taxi to my house, I decided, yes I could, and I must._

 

“So I went upstairs, pulled out my old medical box from the war, sharpened and cleaned my scalpel, and then… got to work,” I breathed, pulling myself out of my story to look at Joe’s shocked expression.

A moment passed before he spoke.

“You cut open your own knee, with no anaesthesia, and removed some of your own cartilage?” he asked plainly, his voice flat.

My mind flashed back to that moment.

_I marked out the spot where the pain was the worst, hoping that that was where the tear was – I couldn’t know for sure without an x-ray, but I didn’t see myself being able to access one of those any time soon._  

_I leaned my scalpel against the edge of the mark and took a deep breath, trying not to think too hard about the outrageousness of what I was doing – oh well, I was desperate. What other options did I really have? I was in a position to fix myself, so why should I refrain?_

_I pushed hard and cut the line cleanly, watching the bright red blood instantly surge out of the wound. Throwing my head back, I damned the heavens above, curses streaming out of my mouth at a steady rate. Trying to catch my breath and push against the tears threatening to fall from my eyes, I looked down at my knee trying to figure out what to do next._

_The tear, I need to feel for the tear. I reached down and tenderly prodded the wound, trying to build the courage to insert my fingers into it. After a moment, I closed my eyes and just went for it._

_A scream burst from my throat. Thank God Frank wasn’t here, he would certainly put a stop to this._

_“Fuck you, Frank Randall,” I panted through my clenched teeth._

_He had pushed me down the stairs to hurt me, sure, but he had refused me access to surgery because he wanted to control my mobility. By the Gods above, he wasn’t going to get that satisfaction. I wasn’t going to let him._

_Finding the edge of the tear in my knee, I reached my other hand down beside me in search for my thin medical scissors._

_With shaking hands and the first tear falling down my face, I frenziedly tried to convince myself to go through with this before I passed out from the pain._

_“Damn you Frank, damn you Jamie,” I cried, reaching the scissors in._

 

Silence followed the end of my story. After an awkward moment, I signalled to the bartender for another drink. Joe straightened his back and jumpily signalled for another for him too. When the drinks arrived, he blurted, “you’re a strong women, Claire, but that’s fucked up.”

I levelled a stare at him. He wasn’t wrong. And I didn’t have it in me to be angry when I felt so relieved and exhausted to share that story.

I raised my glass in toast, a detached inflection in my voice, “this is how I survive, Joe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So quite early on, a lot of you wanted some Joe involvement, and when I first started imaging this story, I hadn't even considered putting Joe in. But here he is, you get to see a bit more of his character and relationship with Claire which was really nice to write.  
> Now I've kind of decided how Claire and Frank are gonna go down, and while it will be without Joe's help, I haven't decided what role Joe will play in the aftermath of it all, so as always, I'd love to hear your suggestions! They've basically been fueling the plot of this story since the beginning ahaha


	7. Revealing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I figured it's been a while since Claire and Bree had a moment, so here's how I imagine Bree would have been like as a child. Also, there's some serious physical violence at the end of this chapter, so if it makes you feel uncomfortable, stop reading after Frank arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a few weeks so I updated but uni has become hectic af, I'm sure you guys understand. Anyway, I really really appreciated all your comments after the last chapter! It really warms my heart to know you guys are enjoying it all. So please, let me know your thoughts from this chapter, and what you hope to see in the next chapter xx

“An’ whaz  diz one, Mamma?” Brianna pondered while gently petting what seemed like the hundredth plant in my herb garden.

I brushed back the curls that were clouding my face with the back of my hand, trying to avoid the dirt and soil on my gardening gloves. I looked over to see my little girl delicately tracing the edges of a Cypress, and smiled to myself. With so many breakable things around her, like crockery and flowers, Brianna had had to learn very quickly to be careful so as to avoid time out in the naughty corner.

“Thipess?” Bree titled her little head, her pudgy little cheeks showing the pink of successfully warm summer’s day outside.

“Cy-prrrr-essss,” I sounded out for her, turning my attention back to digging the hole for a new geranium to be planted.

“Thhhh-iii-prrrr-essss,” Bree tried again, unable to get past her lisp. I smiled again, adoring at how young Bree sounded. Life had been going by so quickly, with so many things taking up space in my mind. It sometimes shocked me how quickly my baby was growing. And to think, one day she’d be a fully-fledged adult. I laughed to myself and shook my head minutely; it was a thought too astonishing to think hard on.

“An’ whaz it dooo?” Bree asked, dragging her last word out, trying to regain my attention.

“Do?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at the inquisitive little girl behind me.

“Can I eat it?” Bree looked contemplatively at the green stems of the cypress plant.

“Ah,” I nodded, understanding her. “You sure can eat it, but it has marvellous healing properties. It’s really good at clotting blood actually.”

“Cal-otting?” Bree asked, and endless stream of questions.

“Ummm,” I looked up at the sky, wiping sweat away again, trying to find the words that Bree might understand. “When someone is bleeding, Cypress can help stop the bleeding. Which is important you see,” I peered down at my baby girl, wandering if one day she’d follow in my footsteps and become a doctor, “as we all need blood to live. And if someone runs out of blood, well, they might go to heaven.”

“Bu’ heaven would be fun,” Bree’s eyes widened in confusion.

“Yes baby girl, but there’s lot’s of fun you can only have on Earth, so we want to spend as much time here as possible, and when God’s ready for us, we’ll move on,” I tried to reason simply.

Nodding to herself, Bree said, “okay,” and trotted back over to another plant, leaving me staring after her in amusement.

A few minutes later, Bree piped up again with her questions.

“Mama, did you play me diz one today?”

“What do you mean, darling?” I yelled over my shoulder quickly, trying to finish digging a new hole.

“Diz one look like you, mama,” Bree said again, still not making any sense.

“Just a moment an I’ll come see it,” I replied distractedly, becoming exhausted by the sun.

A moment later, I felt Bree’s finger poke at my shoulder. Jerking back, I looked down to see she had poked at the dark bruise that was there. _Dammit_. I forgot all about it when I took off my cardigan an hour ago. Alarmed, my eyes flickered back up to Brianna. She was sanding innocently before me, a lavender stalk in her tiny hand.

Stroking the little petals of the lavender stalk, Bree murmered, “Thame colour az you, mama.”

I gasped quietly, my hand coming up to my beating chest. Bree had never noticed my bruises before, or at least, never mentioned them.

“You got a boo boo,” Bree observed thoughtfully, “I kith it better.”

Leaning down, Bree softly landed a little wet kiss of my bruised shoulder. In the absence of Bree’s perceptive eyes, I allowed myself a moment of panic. With my eyes watering, I whispered, “Thank you, baby girl,” before making a mental note to hide my bruises better in future. Bree was never to find out about Frank’s abusive tendencies.

While she pulled away, the phone rang and I was spared from having to think of something to say.

Clearing my throat, I quickly hopped up and jogged to the telephone in the living room. Carefully peeling my gloves off, I picked the phone up at the last ring.

“Randall Residence,” I exhaled into the phone, slightly out of breath.

“Claire.”

It was Joe.

“Is everything okay, Joe?” I asked after a few moments of silence, concerned by his hesitance.

“Are you okay?” he blurted.

Taken aback, I stumbled over my words, “Well, y-yes. Why do ask? Has someone told you I was hurt?”

I tried thinking back to a moment in the past few days where I’d tripped or anything like that, but I had no idea what could have happened to make Joe worry. I could hear him breathe into the phone, slightly relieved, slightly hassled.

“Joe?” I hesitated. “I’m fine. Are you okay? You’re worrying me.”

“I’m worrying you?” he chuckled sardonically. “Lady Jane … it’s been a week since you told me about … well about everything … and I’ve tried to think about what I could say to comfort you, or what I could do to support you, or just … GAH,” he pulled away from the phone for a moment. I was frozen to the spot, anxious as to what Joe was trying to get at.

“I just … I am, I am incapable,” he stressed the last word, “of getting past my fear for you. It’s just … you, you told me, and then you had another shot of whiskey, then you limped out of the bar, and I finally understood why you limped … and then I got thinking. And now, I finally understand why you do so many things. Why you flinch at loud sounds. Why you have random bruises,” Joe’s voice became more frantic. “Why you wear heavy makeup some days then none at all others. Why we never study at your house. Why you centre everything around Frank.

“I’ve know you for a year, and although I noticed all these things, I never considered you might be subject to abuse and …,” Joe began to cry, his breaths heavy in the phone speaker, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’m sorry I didn’t ask. I’m sorry that it’s been a week and I still haven’t done anything.”

I had begun to cry myself, overwhelmed by his words.

“You couldn’t,” my voice caught on a sob, “you couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. And I’ve gotten good at hiding, Joe, and that’s not your fault.”

Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let myself have the first moment in years to feel sorry for myself, to relish in the support of another, to hate my situation.

“Mama?” Bree stood at the entrance to living room.

And to think that this was where it all started, 3 and a half years ago. Frank crossed a line he could never uncross in this very room, with Brianna situated not too far away from where she is now. I had let it go this far. I had let it go on for 3 and a half years.

Was I a good mother? Would a good mother have stayed? Or would a good mother have risked Frank’s wrath and the fate of the discriminatory court system? Had I done the right thing? Had I protected Bree? She was not even four years old and she had already begun to notice the signs of abuse. When she got older would she resent me for not trying hard enough? Or would she understand? Or worse, would she become another victim to Frank’s abuse?

I fell to the floor, the phone barely still in my grasp. In past times like this, when my thoughts became bigger than my head, I had counted books, cracks and flowers to try and squash my thoughts. But it wasn’t working this time.

“Letting you in was a mistake,” I sobbed into the phone, unable to understand how easily things had broken. Or maybe things had always been broken but I had successfully looked away. Now it felt like the broken shards of the past were making its path through my skin, aimed at my heart.

“Let who in?” a deep voice came from my left.

Frightened by Frank’s sudden interest, I jumped back, knocking my head accidently at the wall behind me the same time I yelled, “Frank!”

I dropped the phone, not paying a sliver of attention to alarmed voice of Joe on the other end.

“Just who were you talking to, Claire?” Frank asked again, sternly, dropping his brief case to the floor.

“N-no one,” I trembled, desperately trying to wipe away my tears.

“No one, you say?” he said, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. “Because it sounded a lot like you were talking to someone important to you, which is odd, one might say, considering the only people important to you are in this house right now.”

I shakily got to feed, trying and failing to think of a plausible excuse to why I might be crying into the phone.

“It’s, it’s no one, it’s,” I shuddered, unable to put cohort words together with my mind as overwhelmed as it was.

“It’s, it’s, it’s,” Frank mocked. “It’s just another case of a wife cheating on her dutiful husband,” he said, raising his eyebrow and licking his lips distastefully.

He stood still for a minute, just looked at me hatefully.

“Do you know what happens to wives who forget their place?” he said, carefully placing his hands on his belt.

“No,” I shook my head, shivering. I couldn’t understand why I was shivering.

“Mama?” Bree called out again.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” I’d forgotten she was still there. Under no circumstances could she see what was about to happen.

“Frank,” I pleaded, “Frank, can’t see this. She can’t. Please.”

He just stared down at me, his lip quivering.

“Would you beg?”

Time stood still as soon as he said it. Yet again, here I was, wondering how I could possibly be looking at Frank Randall and not Blackjack Randall.

I took a deep breath, and shakily kneeled, just a few metres away from him.

Not looking away from his face for even a moment, I sacrificed the last of my proud, “Please, Frank, I’m begging you. Please. Please send her away. Please.”

He held my stare for a few moments, before calling out, “Brianna Randall, to your room at once.” A moment passed before he said again, “Room. Now.”

The sound of her soft footsteps was music to my ears. I exhaled, ready for anything that Frank could throw at me now that Brianna had left.

I looked down at the ground before me, doing the only thing I could. Wait.

It didn’t take long before Frank struck.

The metal clasp of his belt hit my cheek with substantial force. A scream left me before I could remind myself to keep quiet for Bree’s sake.

“Are you cheating on me, wife?” he spat on my collapsed form before him.

I tried to focus on my breathing but it was hard to make room in my mind for anything but pain.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Frank yelled again, circling me like a shark might circle its prey.

“You, Claire Randall, owe everything to me,” he pronounced hatefully. “I give you my name, my loyalty, my house, my money, and it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough for you, will it?”

He struck again, this time across my back.

“WILL IT?”

Frank broke out in to a succession of strikes, hitting my legs, ass, back and head. I tried to raise a hand against his abuse, but he just struck my hand too.

I eventually just tried to cradle my head, praying I would get out of this alive, but instinctively feeling like I wouldn’t.

The strikes melded together and Frank lost himself into a steady rhythm. Yet again, here I was experiencing something very similar to Jamie, by a very similar person.

_Maybe I’ll join you soon, Jamie. It’s been a long wait._

I must have passed out at some point because the next time I was aware of anything, I was hearing two male voices yelling at each other, and feeling some strange prodding at my wounds.

After a few minutes and lots of loud sounds, silence eventually took over.

Heavy steps and heavy breaths made its way to me.

“Claire,” someone whispered mournfully.

“Why are you putting plants on her, Bree?” they whispered again.

“Mama thaid Thypress endz blood from leaving. Mama thaid we need blood to live. I wanna mama to live.”

Opening my eyes minutely, I could see Joe take Bree into his arms, gently patting her hair.

“You did so good, Bree. Your mama will be very proud.”

When Joe noticed my open eyes, he shuddered and unwrapped his arms from around my baby girl.

“Claire,” he shook his head in disbelief. “Claire, I’m getting you to a hospital. Now.”

He leaned down and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into an upright position.

“Can you walk?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes,” I breathed, unsure if it was the truth.

“Brianna, dear, can you go ahead and open the back doors of my car?” he instructed.

After nodding her head, Bree raced ahead, skipping over Frank’s unconscious body. I simply looked at it disconnectedly before looking back at Joe.

“I heard you scream Claire, I couldn’t not come,” he said simply.

 


End file.
